A Study in Gold and Garnet
by thereigatesquire
Summary: During their first year at Hogwarts, John and Sherlock solve a mystery, learn about the wizarding world, and more. The first in a series. Follows the plot of "A Study in Pink."
1. Chapter 1

A Study in Gold and Garnet

 **My first story! It's basically John and Sherlock at Hogwarts a year before the Golden Trio arrive. Therefore, there's no HP plot intertwined...yet. This story's a magic-ified "Study in Pink." I plan to do seven or eight stories, each matching with both a HP book and Sherlock episode. I have this first one typed all the way out. Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 1

John Watson waited nervously on Platform 9 ¾, glancing around at the foreign spectacle that surrounded him. He twiddled with the odd stick of wood he had just recently acquired and watched nearby witches and wizards use similar sticks to pull off incredible feats. A tall witch to his left flicked her wand and caused a luggage cart to magically trail her and her daughter. A wizard on his right made a rag scrub his son's face with a few spoken words. Everyone was eagerly shuffling closer to the scarlet train, waiting until it was their turn to board. John felt overwhelmed; his short stature made it hard to see what was going on, and his shaggy blonde hair kept getting in his eyes. John gripped his trolley, which was loaded with strange textbooks and apparel, worriedly. He felt so out of place here. He thought back to the strange circumstances that had led to him standing here.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"John!" his mother called from somewhere in their tiny flat. "John! Have you finished unpacking?"

He responded with some noncommittal grunt and turned back to the cardboard boxes he was supposed to be unpacking. As he stared at the nondescript brown cubes, he felt an inexpressible feeling rise up inside him. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and balled his hands up. Suddenly, the pyramid of boxes toppled over with a loud crash.

"Mum! Mum! He's doing it again!" cried Harry from the small bedroom next door.

John's mum walked into his bedroom and sighed when she saw the destruction that lay around him. "Well, at least you have another therapy session coming up." She walked up to him and gently rested her hands on his shoulders, leaning down to rest her chin on the top of his head. "John, please just tell me what's wrong. I want to help you, but I can't if I don't know what's going on." John just shrugged away from her in reply.

oooooo

A few weeks later, as John's uneventful eleventh birthday was winding down, the Watsons heard a loud knock coming from the front door of their apartment complex, one floor below. John's mother sighed. "Someone must have forgotten their keys again. I'll go let them in." She got up, threw on a coat, and left the flat. A good ten minutes later, she returned, along with an old lady in a long, tartan coat.

"John," his mother said, looking thoroughly confused, "This lady wanted to speak with you." His mother gestured for the lady to take a seat and went to fetch a tea set.

"Hello, John," the lady said, eyes crinkling as she smiled kindly at him. She had a pleasant Scottish accent. "I'm Professor McGonagall, from Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" John questioned.

"The top wizarding school in England."

"I'm sorry, you didn't just say 'wizarding,' did you?"

McGonagall laughed. "As a matter of fact, I did. You're a wizard, John." John just sat there, looking at her with an incredibly skeptical expression on his face. McGonagall sighed, "Look, John, it's true. Have you ever had odd things happen to you? Especially when you experience strong emotions?"

John paused. He _had_ had odd things happen to him. Take the box incident from moving day, for example. He decided to continue listening to the lady with a slightly more open mind.

"There's a whole other world you don't know about, John, and now you're a part of it. Obviously, going to Hogwarts is a choice, but unless you cultivate your magic ability, it may never fully develop."

"Whoa, back up. _Magic?_ It's real? Like, telekinesis? Like, I can wave my hands and make stuff move? Like Doctor Strange?"

McGonagall looked confused. "I don't know this Doctor Strange character, but our magic is more like Merlin. He's one wizard muggles seem to have all heard of."

"You mean Merlin was real?! And what are 'muggles'?"

McGonagall laughed again. "Yes, he was real. And muggles are what we call non-magical people. For example, you'd be called a muggleborn because you come from a non-magical family." At that moment, John's mum returned from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry I took so long. I couldn't find the suga-"

Suddenly, another owl slammed into the window of their flat. John's mum jumped and dropped the tray she had been carrying. McGonagall whipped out a stick she had been concealing in the sleeve of her robe. "Arresto Momentum!" she shouted. The tea set froze in midair. She flicked her wand again and the tea set landed safely on a nearby table. John and his mother were also frozen, with their mouths open. McGonagall laughed yet again as she went to the window. "That wasn't even impressive magic." As she took the letter from the owl that had slammed into their window, she frowned. Opening it up and reading it, she sighed. "I'm being called away prematurely. Seems like there's some sort of incident with wizarding parents petitioning Hogwarts to keep muggleborns out. I wish I could have given you more information on the wizarding world, John, but you won't be too far behind the rest of the muggleborns. Here's your supply list and instructions on how to get to Hogwarts. Now, I'll be off then."

"I can show you out," John's mum offered.

McGonagall smiled and said, "I'll be fine." Removing her wand once again, she held it tightly and disappeared with a pop. John and his mother stood there shocked for a solid minute.

oooooo

Once John and his mum had talked to Harry (with many temper-tantrums being thrown), they decided to buy John's new school stuff. Unfortunately, the supply list said that muggles weren't allowed to go to 'Diagon Alley,' where the supplies were. So, with much hesitation, John's mum sent him off to a pub called the Leaky Cauldron all alone.

Once the barkeeper, Tom, let John into Diagon Alley (through a solid brick wall!), John wisely decided to trade his pounds in for wizarding currency first. He was directed by some kind witch to a large bank called Gringotts, where he exchanged his money with a goblin in return for some 'knuts', sickles', and 'galleons'. He then bought a wand from an odd man named Ollivander, 12 inches, oak and rigid. He bought robes, potion supplies, and textbooks as well. Then, he returned to the flat, odd purchases in tow. Harry was not happy with the odd smelling potion ingredients that now resided in the living room.

oooooo

When September 1st came, John, his mum, and Harry travelled to Kings Cross Station. John's mum hugged him as he prepared to walk through a wall that separated platforms 9 and 10, as the letter had instructed him to do. Harry merely scowled at him. With a breath, he closed his eyes and strode quickly at the wall. When he opened them again, he was on Platform 9 ¾.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As John was reminiscing on what had led him here, a hand tapped his shoulder. He spun around and came face to face with an old pal. "Mike!"

"John!" Mike Stamford responded enthusiastically. "I didn't know you were a wizard too!"

"Well, I didn't either," he chuckled. He paused for a moment. "Wow, so this is where you went last year."

"Yeah," Mike admitted. "I really wanted to tell you why I was leaving school, but I couldn't."

"I understand," John said. He sighed, "Honestly, Mike, I'm nervous. This is all so mad! And you know I don't make friends that easily."

Mike chuckled. "That's strange. You're the second one to say that to me today."

"Well, who was the first?"

"Here, follow me." Mike started to lead him through the crowd of wizardfolk. "Just to warn you, John, this kid is not everyone's cup of tea."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"Well, it's not easy to express the inexpressible," Mike replied. John was going to ask for some more information, but at that moment they reached the boarding door of the train and along with it, a boy.

"Mike, can I borrow your wand?" was the boy's only greeting. "I've misplaced mine."

"Oh, sorry," Mike responded, "Mine's packed away."

"Here, use mine," John said, handing his wand to the boy. "I'm John Watson by the way."

"Thank you," he said slowly, looking at John for the first time. He eyed the wand for a second, then waved it, muttered a few words, and caused his luggage to float onto the train behind him. "I'll save a compartment for us." he said, addressing John.

"What?" John exclaimed, "We've only just met, and you want us to sit together for a whole two-hour train ride?"

"Well, what else would you be here for? I've just told Mike that I don't know anyone, then he shows up with a kid I've never met before. One who is clearly muggleborn, lives with his mother, has an older brother who's named Harry whom he's not close with, and has recently lived abroad. By the way, was it Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"What?" John stammered, completely floored.

"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Umm, Afghanistan."

"I knew it," the boy said, turning to disappear into the train.

"Wait!" John called. "You're just going to leave now? I don't even know who you are or which compartment you'll be in!"

The boy turned slowly. "The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the compartment is 221B." He winked, then walked deeper into the train.

John turned back to Mike and just shook his head a little, too stunned to speak.

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 **Hope you like it so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

A Study in Gold and Garnet

 **Wow! People have actually read Chapter 1 already! These next chapters are shorter, so I'll post chapters 2 and 3. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 2

John hauled his luggage up onto the Hogwarts Express. He roamed briefly until he spotted compartment 221B. Inside, Sherlock Holmes was laid prostrate along one of the benches, eyes closed and hands steepled beneath his chin. John studied him a bit, having been unable to get a good look at him amidst the chaos outside the train. He certainly was a tall 11-year old, and he was incredibly thin and lanky. He was also rather pale and had dark, curly hair. As John lifted his luggage up onto the luggage rack, Sherlock opened his eyes. "Oh, so you decided to join me," he said, sounding rather surprised.

"Yes, of course," John answered. "You did say you were going to save a compartment, and you already seem to know my whole life story through some sort of wizardry-magicky gimmick, so-"

"Magic?!" Sherlock interrupted, "You think I told you your whole life story through magic?" he scoffed and rolled so that his back was facing John.

"Well, I mean, what else could it be?"

"It's called _observation_ and _logic_ , something most people, and wizards especially, seem to lack. See here," Sherlock said, suddenly swinging himself into a sitting position. "I knew you were a muggleborn by the way you kept glancing around in awe, and by the unnatural way you held your wand. I figured out you live with your mother, who is in the military, because a tear in your left sleeve was repaired using a stitch used uniquely by the military, and because your tie is tied wrong, which indicates you probably don't live with your father. Your skin is unnaturally dark, but a little lighter above the wrists, which shows you went somewhere sunny but not as a holiday. So, military family, sunny location, Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock sat back, seemingly pleased with himself.

"And my brother, Harry?" John asked, smiling.

"Oh yes, I deduced that from your wand. It has some major scratching near the tip, indicating rough treatment. What I've seen of you so far refuted the idea of you being reckless with your newfound magical ability, so it's more probable someone either unacquainted with magic, bitter about their lack of it, or both damaged your wand. Someone bitter about not having magical ability is likely to be around your age, and bitterness indicates that you're not close. The magnitude of the damage favors an older brother. Also, your luggage has a nameplate that says Harry." He looked up, staring hard at John. "So, not magic."

"Wow," John said quietly. "That was...fantastic!"

"You really think so?" Sherlock said, taken aback. "That's not what most people say."

"What do most people say?"

"Piss off."

They both started laughing, then sat back, quiet for a minute. "So, did I miss anything?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I certainly am muggleborn. That's basically all I've learned since I became a part of the wizarding world. Everyone keeps glancing at me irritated that I don't have I a clue about what's going on, then they mutter "muggleborn". My mother was deployed in Afghanistan a couple of years back, and we all moved to a base there. We moved back to London just a couple months ago. And I'm not close with Harry."

"So I got everything right then," Sherlock said confidently.

John smiled. "Harry's short for Harriet. She has anger issues, which explains our distance and the damaged wand."

Sherlock looked at John, stunned for a second, then flopped back onto the bench and scowled, "It's always something! I always miss something!"

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 **Thanks for reading everyone! This story is going to be 8 chapters long.**


	3. Chapter 3

A Study in Gold and Garnet

 **Here's chapter 3. It's really short, sorry!**

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Sherlock and John passed the rest of the train ride more or less in silence. This wasn't because John didn't want to talk, but because Sherlock seemed to be in a depressed mood. It had come on suddenly, a little while after they had finished talking. John was a little perturbed with this mercurial shift, but he decided it would be best not to disturb Sherlock, who was currently laying curled up in a ball with his back towards John. As the time passed however, and their destination drew nearer, John longed for some preparation of what was to come.

"Sherlock," he whispered, tapping him hesitantly. "You know stuff about Hogwarts, right?"

"Yes," he sighed, rolling over. "I _am_ a pureblood after all, and I have an older brother, so I do know quite a bit about Hogwarts."

"Pureblood means a wizarding family, right?" John asked haltingly.

"Yes, but specifically a wizarding family without muggles marrying in so 'the blood isn't tainted' or some rubbish. Honestly, I think everyone makes too big a fuss about being pureblood."

John nodded, trying to take all this information in, then asked, "What are we going to do at Hogwarts first, once we get there?"

"Sorting ceremony."

"What's that?"

"It's where we get put into the houses that match our personalities and interests."

"And there's four houses, right? Something to do with animals?"

"Yes," Sherlock sighed. "You really don't know anything about wizarding, do you? There's Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. Put bluntly, Gryffindor is for the brave, Slytherin for the ambitious, Hufflepuff for the kind, and Ravenclaw for the wise."

"Do you know which house you'll be in?"

Sherlock paused, then said, "I have an idea, but it is a capital mistake to theorize prematurely, so I shan't share it with you."

"Oh, ok," John replied, slowly. _This kid really has a big vocabulary,_ he thought privately.

Suddenly, Sherlock jumped up, grabbed one of his bags, and walked to the door. As he opened it, he turned and said to John, "You might want to put on your robes. We'll be arriving soon."


	4. Chapter 4

A Study in Gold and Garnet

 **I couldn't wait any longer! Here's chapter 4; enjoy!**

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Chapter 4

John and Sherlock got separated in the bustle to get off the train. As a huge man herded the youngest students towards some boats, John caught himself feeling nervous and searching for Sherlock in the crowd. _Gosh_ , he thought. _Have I already befriended him?_

John got into a small boat along with three other kids. He was too busy looking around to really notice them, but he did take note of one suave-looking, very pretty girl. She had dark hair, red lips, and was staring around her with large, calculating eyes. John thought back to what Sherlock had told him on the train. _I'll bet she's placed in Slytherin._

John didn't have much time to dwell on this however, before the castle came into view. The soaring towers, torch-lit windows, and precarious placement of the castle struck awe into the hearts of all the first-years. The big man helped them out of the boats and led them towards the enormous front doors of Hogwarts.

The first-years were herded into a large hall that somehow contained a whole universe up in its rafters. Four long tables ran the length of the hall, each of them filled with students. A fifth table was located at the head of the room, perpendicular to the rest of the tables, and various adults sat at it. John could only assume they were the teachers. The old woman who had appeared at his house a couple of weeks ago, Professor McGonagall, stood at the front of the room. She introduced herself and placed a old brown wizard's hat onto a stool. "We'll now begin the Sorting ceremony," she announced.

At that moment, the old hat on the stool began to _sing._ John didn't even catch what it said, he was so preoccupied with the way it moved. Once it sang its final verse, John looked around the room one more time. Finally, he spotted him, some of his curls higher than the rest of the crowd. He wriggled his way through the crowd towards him.

Professor McGonagall unfurled a long scroll and told everyone to listen for their name, before calling up an "Apple, Abigail." The girl emerged from the crowd, walked up to the stool, and took a seat. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head. John paused on his way to Sherlock, eager to see what would happen next. Suddenly, the hat shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!" The girl hopped up, wobbled on unsteady legs, and made her way to a table filled with students in yellow apparel.

"Each of these tables is a house," Sherlock bent down and whispered in John's ear once he arrived. "And each house has its own colors." They watched as names were called and young wizarding-folk walked up to the Sorting hat and were sorted. The girl from the boat, Adler, Irene was sorted into Slytherin after a small amount of deliberation on the part of the hat. Soon after, an Anderson, Philip was sorted into Hufflepuff, almost instantly. Donovan, Sally was placed in Gryffindor. Then, "Holmes, Sherlock" was called.

John watched him march up to the hat, dark robes fluttering behind him, no trace of emotion upon his countenance. He sat rigid on the stool as the hat was placed upon his head. Then, the whole room gasped. Other first-years had quietly muttered or chanted to the Sorting hat; indeed, it was rather common. However, no one had ever _loudly commanded_ the hat before.

The old hat had started to call out "SLY-" when Sherlock interrupted in a high, clear voice. "No, that's my brother's house, certainly don't place me there."

"Well, then HUF-" the hat started.

"Not there, either. They're sentimental. Honestly, I'm offended you even attempted that."

"Make it GRY-"

"Are you sure you're an intelligent hat? Gryffindors are reckless and chivalrous, and I have no time for antiquated social norms."

The hat was visibly deflating and finally called out in a much more quiet and tired voice, "RAVENCLAW, then."

"Well, I guess it'll do," Sherlock said, sliding off the stool and walking towards his new house table. The entire student body sat completely silent, staring in shock at this insolent first-year who had completely disregarded Hogwarts tradition. As a result, most people missed Hooper, Molly being sorted into Hufflepuff without a hitch. John glanced around the room. Even he, a muggleborn with the most rudimentary knowledge of the wizarding world, could tell that Sherlock had done something really out-of-the-ordinary. He made eye contact with one of the professors, a grey-haired old man with matching robes, who gave him a wink and a knowing smile. John blinked hard, unsure of what all had just happened, and turned back to watch the ceremony.

oooooo

The rest of the ceremony passed much more smoothly. A Lestrade, Greg was sorted into Gryffindor notably quickly. Soon enough, it was his turn. "Watson, John!"

He shakily walked up to the stool. The hat was slowly lowered onto his head. To his surprise, he heard it talking inside his head. "A good heart," it muttered. "And loyal too. You could possibly be a Hufflepuff, but no," it paused. "You have a strong set of morals and nerves of steel. You are definitely a GRYFFINDOR!" It shouted this last part and the teacher took the hat off his head. John stood up unsteadily and turned towards the gold and garnet table that was celebrating his placement. Before he walked off towards it, however, he turned to look at the Ravenclaw table. He met Sherlock's eyes, and Sherlock gave him small smile and a wink.


	5. Chapter 5

A Study in Gold and Garnet

 **Wow! This has gotten a good number of views already! I really appreciate the reviews! I'm trying to map out upcoming stories, but its a bit tricky. I've just started typing out Year 2. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 5

John quickly got settled into his dormitory after the ceremony. It was late, so he changed and laid on his four-poster bed, trying to sleep. However, he couldn't stop thinking about how staggeringly unbelievable the day had been. He'd met actual wizards, waited on a platform that wasn't supposed to exist, and had his mind read by a hat. Even the journey to the dormitories had been a adventure, as half of the Gryffindors had been separated when a staircase started moving. However, he was most intrigued by Sherlock Holmes. _How could someone be that brilliant?_ he thought. _And confident?_ As he was mulling these thoughts around in his head, he drifted off.

oooooo

The next morning, he found himself in one of the many corridors of Hogwarts, squinting at the schedule he had in his hand. _Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology._ What did these words even mean? Suddenly, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around. Sherlock stood there, dressed in his black robes and his blue Ravenclaw scarf. "We have a lot a classes together," he said. "They did something wise for once, scheduling Ravenclaw and Gryffindor together. Ravenclaw and Slytherin calls for too much ego-clashing, Slytherin and Gryffindor have an ongoing animosity, and Gryffindor and Hufflepuff makes for too much stupid in one room. Here, follow me, we have Charms first."

Sherlock led John quickly through a maze twisting corridors, moving staircases, and roving first-years. "How do you know your way around so well?" John asked.

"I snuck out last night to make a mind map of the castle."

"Wait, so you memorized this whole place in one night? That's brilliant!"

Sherlock looked oddly embarrassed. "You really think so?"

"Of course!"

Sherlock just kept walking, but John could see that the praise had affected him positively. Finally, they reached the Charms classroom. The class was taught by an incredibly small professor named Flitwick. John learned rather quickly that Sherlock was a remarkably skilled wizard. He had already known all of the spells they learned that day, and he was good at them. John wasn't too bad, especially since prior to today he didn't even know how to hold a wand.

After the lesson, as they were packing up their belongings, John leaned over to Sherlock. "How did you know all of these spells already? I thought you weren't supposed to do magic before you got to Hogwarts."

Sherlock gave him a small, impish grin. "I make it my business to know things, and I never let a few silly rules get in my way. Come on, we have Herbology next."

oooooo

The rest of the day passed in an exciting blur. John learned a lot about magic, and about Sherlock, during the rest of their classes. John learned that he himself had a strong aptitude for Herbology. The only two classes they didn't have together were Transfiguration and History of Magic, both of which John found passed by more slowly for some reason. Defense Against the Dark Arts was taught by a shifty-looking man named Professor Hope, but the class itself wasn't too eventful.

Potions was an interesting experience. As Sherlock and John walked into the dungeons, a harsh, deep voice welcomed them. "Grab a partner, set up your supplies, and keep your mouths closed." John looked up to see a tall, greasy looking man standing imperiously at the front of the room. John and Sherlock sat at one of tables and stayed quiet, not really daring to talk. Once the rest of the students arrived, the professor introduced himself. "I am Professor Snape. Welcome to Potions." he droned. "I can teach you many things. How to remember everything, how to manipulate time, even how to change your very essence." He paused. "But in reality I probably won't be able to get through any of your thick skulls."

John felt Sherlock stiffen beside him. Snape continued. "Just as an exercise, let's see if any you actually happen to know anything. What would happen if I mixed, say, powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?"

Sherlock glanced around the classroom, then languidly raised his hand. Snape seemed surprised as he called on him. "Yes, Mr…?"

"Holmes," Sherlock finished, then continued, "And the answer is a sleeping potion called the Draught of Living Death."

"Hmm," Snape mused, frowning. "That's correct. Now, what about if I asked you to find a bezoar? Where would you look?" He posed this question more to Sherlock than to the rest of the class.

"Simple, a goat's stomach." Sherlock replied.

"Correct, again. Finally, what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

Sherlock actually rolled his eyes at this question. "They're the same thing, also known as Aconite."

Snape paused for a moment, seemingly impressed at this confident first-year. Then he blinked, gave a slight shake of his head, and said, "Fine, ten points to Ravenclaw."

Once the real lesson began and they were tasked with brewing a Hiccoughing Potion, Snape kept hovering by John and Sherlock's table, waiting for Sherlock to make a mistake. However, he never got the chance. Not only did Sherlock never mess up, he made the whole potion without even opening the textbook. Sherlock left the classroom smirking.

oooooo

Near the end of the day, they were scheduled to have Astronomy and Flying lessons. As they crossed through the doorway that led up to the Astronomy tower, Sherlock's demeanor tangibly deflated.

"What is it?" John asked, a little alarmed at this sudden shift.

"Astronomy," Sherlock grumbled, crossing his arms as they made their way up the stairs.

"What about it? Is the teacher bad?"

"No, Professor Sinistra is fine. It's Astronomy itself that's the problem."

"Oh...ok then," John said, completely confused.

He came to learn what Sherlock had meant once the class began. Sherlock had absolutely no interest or knowledge in Astronomy. He didn't even know basic information about the solar system! When asked about his indifference to the subject, he replied, "Well, how does Astronomy affect my daily life? It's simply not practical. What does it matter that we go around the sun? We could go around a crumple-horned snorkack for all I care."

oooooo

The last lesson they had that day was Flying lessons. John was looking forward to this one the most. Sherlock had informed him earlier that they were going to fly on broomsticks! The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws walked out onto the castle grounds to find broomsticks laid out in rows.

"I'm Madam Hooch," the teacher standing between all the broomsticks said. "Stand beside a broomstick and we'll begin the lesson."

John stood by a broomstick next to his fellow Gryffindors. Sherlock stood across from him, with the Ravenclaws. "Now," said Madam Hooch, "Put your hand over the broom and say, 'Up!'"

John watched a few other students try it, rather unsuccessfully, then placed his own hand over his broomstick. "Up!" he said loudly. He closed his eyes, imagining how wonderful it would be to fly on a magic broomstick. Suddenly, he felt a large weight in his hand. He opened his eyes and there it was! The broom had jumped from the ground into his hand!

"Very good, Mr. Watson!" Madam Hooch congratulated. John looked over at Sherlock, who looked a little surprised but gave him a wink anyway. Sherlock had of course got his own broom to come to his hand, but it was not nearly as forceful as John's had been.

oooooo

At dinner, since Ravenclaws and Gryffindors sat separately, John had an opportunity to meet other people in his house. A boy to his left introduced himself as Greg, a fellow first-year.

"I noticed you spent a lot of time with Sherlock today," he said.

"Um, yes," John ceded. "He knows a lot about this place and-"

Greg interrupted him. "Yes, he does know a lot, doesn't he? Sherlock and I knew each other before Hogwarts and I've been putting up with him and his scary 'logic' for years. As much as it pains me to admit, he can be rather helpful sometimes, so I've kept familiar with him."

At that moment, a girl walked up and took a seat across from them. John recognized her from the Sorting ceremony as Sally Donovan.

"Hey, Sally!" Greg greeted her. He turned to John. "Sally and I knew each other before Hogwarts too."

"I heard you talking about Sherlock," she said. "John, I'm going to warn you, he's bad news. You should keep away from him."

"What? Why?"

"Because he's a bloody psychopath! Did you know he likes it when bad things happen? It gives his funny brain something to puzzle about."

"I don't know about all that-" Greg began.

"No, I mean it! He'll only let you down. You need to get some new friends, John, or at least some other distraction. You should try Wizard's Chess."

Just then, the Gryffindor prefect stood up and said, "All first-years to the dormitories!"

As John stood up and turned to leave, Sally called after him, "You could always go out for Quidditch!"

Greg caught up to John once they left the Great Hall. "I don't think Sherlock's as bad as Sally makes him out to be, but she's right; you should be careful."

"Why? Is he really a psychopath?"

"I don't think so. He's a great kid, and one day, if we're lucky, he may learn to be a good one too."

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 **Thanks for sticking with the story, everyone!**


	6. Chapter 6

A Study in Gold and Garnet

 **Whoops! Just realized I forgot to post this! I had it all ready and everything! Oh well, enjoy it now!**

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Chapter 6

John quickly settled into his routine. He decided to ignore Sally's advice and continued hanging out with Sherlock. Sherlock continued to amaze him with his 'deductions,' his wizarding capabilities, and his lack of knowledge about the cosmos. John, meanwhile, continued to improve at flying. He decided not to go out for Quidditch because he had been told First-years never made it. He felt both thrilled and content with his identity as a wizard, and he felt like he belonged. However, he did see some of what Sally had said about Sherlock emerge as the year progressed.

About a month into school, during a break in classes, John and Sherlock were sitting outside on the Hogwarts grounds, John practising his Transfiguration spells. Sherlock was being sullen, sitting with his knees pulled up close to his chest. All of a sudden, he whipped out his wand and started firing spells into the Great Lake, agitating the previously calm water.

"What the devil are you doing?!" cried John, hopping up.

"Bored!" Sherlock responded. "Everything is so tedious! I can just feel my brain rotting!"

"Well, don't take it out on the squid!" John admonished. "Great, now we have to go inside before someone catches you destroying school grounds!" He dragged Sherlock to a standing position and led him inside, all the while thinking about what Sally had said at the beginning of the year.

A few weeks after that outburst, another incident occurred. After having finished a particularly dull D.A.D.A. lesson, Sherlock and John were accosted by Philip Anderson, a Hufflepuff who had taken a strong disliking to Sherlock after befriending Sally Donovan. "Hey freak!" he said, blocking their way. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To my next class, obviously," Sherlock said, pushing past him. "Honestly, Anderson, you should keep your mouth closed; you're lowering the IQ of the whole castle."

Anderson chose to ignore him, "You know, Sherlock, there are some rumors going around about you."

Sherlock chose not to reply until they neared the doorway that led down to the dungeons. "Ah, yes, gossip. The fuel of primitive minds," he said, turning to face Anderson.

Anderson scowled. "I've a primitive mind? Well, I know what you are! A psychopath!" He stood up straight and tilted his head, as if he had made an clever discovery.

Sherlock smirked. "Wrong yet again, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research!" With that, he whirled around and marched down the stairs to the dungeon. John gave a sheepish smile and hurried down after him, leaving Anderson fuming at the top of the stairs.

Fortunately for Sherlock, and unfortunately for the rest of the school, disaster struck shortly after the Christmas break.

During dinner one night, Professor McGonagall strode into the Great Hall, marched quickly up to Professor Dumbledore, and frantically whispered in his ear. An alarmed expression passed across his face, and he immediately jumped to his feet and announced, "All students, to their common rooms!"

An expression that could only be described as excitement passed over Sherlock's face. "Someone's either been killed or hurt badly, and they don't know the culprit," he said, leaning across the aisle to whisper in John's ear. "Once everyone starts moving, we tail the professors."

They started to do just that. Sherlock and John followed the staff as they hurried away from the Great Hall, carefully keeping out of sight. As the staff rounded another corner, someone grabbed Sherlock and John's collars from behind.

"Where do you think you two are going?" the person said quietly.

John was terrified, thinking they were about to get killed, or even expelled. Sherlock, to his amazement, just sighed. "Mycroft! You always ruin everything!"

Mycroft released their collars, and spun them around so they were facing him. John looked up at a tall, heavily-set boy with dark hair, who was carrying an umbrella for some reason. "You're his brother, aren't you?" John asked him.

"Yes, much to my chagrin." he admitted.

"But Sherlock," John protested, whirling around to face him. "You made it sound like your brother had left Hogwarts. I didn't know he was still here!"

"Yes, because that's what he likes to think," Mycroft explained. "On the contrary, I'm a Fifth-year prefect for Slytherin."

This whole time, Sherlock had been sulking and looking at the ground. Now, however, he glared up at Mycroft and whined, "This was my chance to finally do something interesting for once, and you've ruined it! Gosh, you're the worst big brother!"

"Nay, brother mine. I've saved you a good deal of trouble. There's no possible way you would of been able to examine the body without the staff catching you."

"So there _is_ a body!" Sherlock said excitedly.

"Sherlock," John warned, nudging him rather strongly.

"Sorry," Sherlock said sarcastically. "I meant 'boo-hoo, what a tragedy."

"That's enough!" Mycroft said harshly. "I shan't be telling you anymore details. Off to your common rooms, now! I'll be watching to make sure you get there."

The next day, no official announcement was made to clarify what had happened. However, that didn't stop John and Sherlock from learning the truth. During a break, while they were in the library, Greg Lestrade joined them at their table.

"Hey, Greg!" John greeted.

"Lestrade." Sherlock nodded at him, not looking up from his book about jellyfish.

"Listen, Sherlock. I know what happened yesterday." Greg whispered. This got Sherlock's attention. "I've gotten on the good side of Professor McGonagall, and she told me someone's been put into some kind of magical coma. It looks like they drank a self-made potion of some kind, but something went wrong."

"That's terrible!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock made no noise. They both turned to look at him. He appeared to have totally cut himself off from the external world, he was so deep in thought. When it was clear he was not going to say anything, Greg got up to leave. Suddenly, Sherlock called out, "Where was the body found?"

"Oh, um, in some random, unused classroom on the second floor. I don't know exactly where." replied Greg. He then left the library.

Sherlock turned to look at John. "Why is he calling himself Greg? If it was an attempt to disguise his identity, it certainly was a poor one."

"His name is actually Greg!" John cried, stunned.

"Oh, whatever then," Sherlock said. He then paused. "And why would he tell me what had happened? It's not like him and I are 'friends' or anything."

"Maybe he's just being nice?" John offered "Besides, it's not really a secret you've been itching for something to do."

Sherlock just gave him a look, rose, and left the library, leaving John to process what had just happened.

* * *

 **I'll post Chapter 7 now as well, since I forgot to post this one and I feel guilty...**


	7. Chapter 7

A Study in Gold and Garnet

 **Alright, I finally got around to posting chapter 7. We're almost through with Year 1, people! Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 7

Over the course of the next three months, three more similar 'accidents' occurred. Greg gave Sherlock and John the details of each one, but they weren't able to examine the bodies; the staff always got there first. Finally, one day in April, they got the chance.

As Sherlock and John were walking to the Astronomy tower together through a more-rarely travelled corridor, a frantic student came running around a corner towards them, calling for help.

A gleam appeared in Sherlock's eye as he went to meet her. "What is it? Did you find a body?" he asked.

"Yes! How did you kn-"

"Nevermind that. Where is it?"

"Three doors down. The abandoned classroom on the left!"

"Come on, John!" Sherlock cried, running around the corner the frantic girl had just come from. John gave the girl an awkward pat on the shoulder to try to console her, then ran to join Sherlock.

"We don't have much time before that girl finds some staff member and alerts them." Sherlock said once John caught up to him. They entered the room the girl had indicated. John gasped.

There, lying face-down upon the classroom floor, was a girl. She was wearing black school robes, but she had bright pink hair and shoes. Sherlock wasted no time in starting the investigation. His entire demeanor completely changed. Instead of being languid and bored, now he was alert and tense, quickly darting everywhere. He examined the girl's shoes, hands, robes, etc. with the most minute care. When he was finished, he stood back and announced, "This girl is a Hufflepuff, at least Fifth-year, right-handed, who is obviously enthusiastic about Potions."

"What? How did you deduce-"

"Oh, don't make me spell it out for you. Alright, her shoes have lots of light-coloured dirt on them which is unlike any dirt on the Hogwarts grounds. It does, however, match the dirt that makes up the the floor of the Hufflepuff common room. I've had Molly Hooper bring me some samples."

"Who is Moll-"

"Oh, doesn't matter. The front of her robes have lots of little pin-holes in them, at the exact place where one would pin a prefect badge. Therefore, she's at least a Fifth-year. Her right hand has smears of ink where she dragged it across the page while writing, and both her robes and hands have old potion stains on them, much more than an average student's would have, which indicates a strong interest in Potions."

"That was...brilliant!" John blurted out.

"Well, thank you," Sherlock said oddly. Then he shook his head. "Anyway, we need to get a move on to catch whoever's been doing this."

"You mean, these weren't self-executed accidents?"

"Of course not. First of all, why would there be five almost-identical accidents? Second, this girl is at least somewhat knowledgeable about Potions. Why would she drink a potion she wasn't absolutely sure she had perfected? And third, she left a note that wouldn't make sense if she had accidentally drank a bad potion."

"A note? Where?"

"There," Sherlock said, pointing the floor by her hand. John looked closer and found the word "Rianio" scratched into the floor. "'Rian' is the Irish word for 'track,'" Sherlock said. "I assume this is the incantation for some self-made spell that should help us track the culprit." Suddenly, Sherlock stiffened, straining to listen. "The professors are coming. Quick, we need to leave." They ducked out of the classroom and into another corridor moments before the staff came into view.

"Alright," Sherlock whispered, "Shall we try it?" He took out his wand and whispered "Rianio." Suddenly, a gooey trail of bright pink footsteps appeared where Sherlock waved his wand. "That girl was clever!" he exclaimed, "She must have spilled a bottle of her own potion once she learned what was happening, and the culprit walked through the puddle and took the empty bottle, not knowing it was going to leave an invisible trail! These footsteps are definitely an adult's, so it was probably a member of the staff." He looked behind them. "Look, we must have walked through it too! We're leaving tracks. Come on, John, we need to find who's been doing all this!"

The trail led them through many corridors and around a lot of turns, but they finally arrived at a classroom door. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, to be exact. "I knew something was off about Professor Hope!" John cried.

"Care to pay him a little visit?" Sherlock said, grabbing the door handle. He turned it and threw the door open. The D.A.D.A. classroom was empty.

"Where could he have gone?" John asked.

"I'm not sure. He must have discovered he was leaving a trail and cleaned his shoes, though, because the footprints don't leave the room." Sherlock paused to think. "He'll have to show up at dinner, or else suspicions will be aroused. We'll confront him and tell the rest of the staff then." He checked the time. "We've missed Astronomy. We just have to make it through Flying lessons, and then we'll catch Jefferson Hope."

They both walked out onto the Hogwarts grounds just as the lessons were starting. Neither of them could focus as the lesson went on. Then, about halfway through the class, a prefect came bearing a note. He handed it to Madam Hooch, then left. Madam Hooch took a second to read it, then announced, "Sherlock Holmes, you're needed in the Great Hall."

Sherlock glanced at John, gave him a short nod, and then walked off towards the castle. John was incredibly nervous. He knew the note had to have been from Hope. Somehow, Hope had saw them follow his trail! What was going to happen to Sherlock? "Madam Hooch!" John called, "Can I use the loo?"

"Mr. Watson, you know I only give out one bathroom pass at a time. You'll have to wait until Jack Cordle comes back."

"Please? It's an...emergency?"

"Just wait a few minutes. If he's not back, you may go."

John waited, filled with dread. Finally, he saw Jack Cordle come out of the castle. Madam Hooch saw him too, and signalled that John could leave. He sprinted off towards the front doors and ran into the Great Hall. Sherlock and Jefferson Hope were nowhere to be seen. _No, no!_ he thought. _What am I going to do now?_ Suddenly, he remembered something Sherlock had said earlier. "Rianio!" he said, brandishing his wand. A trail of pink, child-sized footprints appeared where he held his wand. He sprinted off, following the trail.

The trail faded as he followed it, until it petered out in front of two staircases. _Which one?_ he thought frantically. He took the left one.


	8. Chapter 8

A Study in Gold and Garnet

 **So sorry everybody! I know it's been a while, I just have been busy (and a bit un-motivated tbh). Well, here we are: the end of the story! This was my first fic, so I hope you all liked it! It'll be a while before Book 2: _The Philosopher's Game_ is ready. Enjoy the ending!**

* * *

Chapter 8

The staircase led to the top of a tower. Once John emerged into the open air, he looked around. Sherlock wasn't there! A moment later, he spotted him; Sherlock and Professor Hope were on the top of a different tower to his right, one hundred feet away. The spectacle he was witnessing was not a good one. Hope had his wand six inches away from Sherlock's head, and had confiscated Sherlock's wand. Sherlock himself had a glass vial in one hand, and it looked like he was going to drink it.

John knew he had to get this right on the first try. He calmed his nerves, aimed his wand, and said "Stupefy!" A red jet emerged from the tip of his wand and raced through the air towards the other tower. It hit Professor Jefferson Hope square in the chest, and he fell to the floor, hitting the back of his head on the stone.

oooooo

John and Sherlock met up at the bottom of the stairs. "Are you alright?" John asked, worried for his friend.

"Yes," Sherlock said, "A little shaken, perhaps, but I'll be fine. The real question is: are _you_ alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I wasn't threatened and almost put into a coma."

"Yes, but you did just kill a man."

"What? He's dead?"

"Yes, I checked his pulse before I walked down the stairs. He hit his head on the stone of the tower."

John paused for a moment. "Well, he wasn't a very nice man, was he?"

"No, no he wasn't." Sherlock laughed. He and John walked off to the Great Hall to inform the staff of all they had done.

oooooo

The rest of the year passed by quickly. An antidote to the magical comas was developed using the vial of potion Sherlock had saved. John passed all of his final exams. Sherlock passed all of his with incredibly high marks, excepting Astronomy, which he completely failed. Slytherin won the house cup, much to Sherlock's annoyance. No students ever learned of their heroics, however, as Sherlock had insisted the staff make no mention of their contributions. Sherlock and John did tell Greg Lestrade all that had occurred though.

On the last day of the school year, as everyone was lugging their bags onto the Hogwarts Express, John asked Sherlock a question that had been bugging him ever since they stopped Jefferson Hope. "Did Hope ever tell you why he was putting students into comas?"

Sherlock glanced at John as he lifted a suitcase up into a luggage rack. "Yes, actually."

"Well? Why did he do it?"

Sherlock paused, then said, "He was being paid to do it by some higher malefactor."

John blinked, taken aback. "Who? Did he say? It wasn't...You-Know-Who, was it? I thought he was gone."

"You mean _Voldemort_? No, it wasn't. It was someone he only knew as 'Moriarty'."

oooooo

They continued discussing this mystery evildoer during the train ride back. Soon enough, they had arrived at King's Cross Station. As they finished loading their belongings onto trolleys, they turned to say goodbye to each other. John wasn't going to say anything too sentimental, because he knew Sherlock hated that kind of stuff. "Good-bye, Sherlock. It was an amazing year, wasn't it?" He hoped Sherlock could pick up what he was leaving unsaid.

"Yes, it was," Sherlock said, with a bit more emotion on his face than was normal. "Good-bye, John." To John's surprise, he gave him a quick hug, then whirled around and headed away.

John watched him walk off. Sherlock had traded out his robes for a long, dark coat, and it fluttered behind him brilliantly as he ran through the brick barrier.

* * *

 **Well, that was an adventure, wasn't it? Having never have written anything longer than like, a page before, that was an accomplishment for me! ;P Some writers on this website are so talented, sometimes it's a little discouraging, tbh. If you really want some good Sherlock Holmes stories, you should read Aleine Skyfire's work, especially _Mortality_. Anyway, thanks to everyone who read this!**


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